There's Something About Liz
by Mindy35
Summary: Jack/Liz. Liz grows on Jack.


Title: There's Something About Liz

Author: Mindy

Rating: K

Disclaimer: Characters belong to the beyond brilliant (we-are-not-worthy) Ms Tina Fey and her studio posse.

Spoilers: Basic season one stuff. Pilot, "Jack the Writer", "Blind Date", "Black Tie".

Summary: Jack/Liz (Jaz? Lick?) Liz grows on Jack.

-x-x-x-

There was something about Liz Lemon. Something intangibly disarming.

He knew he shouldn't allow himself to be perpetually disarmed, by her or anyone. Or to enjoy it quite so much – but, strangely enough, he did. And, however well he might hide the fact, it was what Jack liked most about Liz.

She was unlike any woman he'd ever encountered and one of the most fascinating opponents he'd ever come up against. Whenever he thought he had her figured, she would find some way to effortlessly and unwittingly pull the proverbial carpet from beneath his feet.

Neither his prior experience nor market research could completely pigeonhole her, as he found out at that initial meeting -- which was why he did not fire her on the spot as he'd planned. Instead, he'd fired the man Liz Lemon obviously trusted and needed. It was a deliberate and ruthless attempt to destroy her support system and gauge just how easy or how hard it might be to get this strange bird to topple completely, to provoke her to relinquish the job she clearly lived for.

Yet, even then, before he knew her, Jack was secretly pleased and inexplicably proud when Liz hadn't caved to his intimidation. If anything, it brought out something audacious and unexpected in her that had intrigued him ever since. So much so, that he'd acquiesced to every single one of her demands, without thought, hesitation or any negotiation at all.

What pleased Jack even more in the succeeding months was watching that first, instinctive glint of distrust in those sharp, dark eyes transform into a very wary twinkle of warmth. For some strange reason he still could not fathom, he wanted her respect, he wanted her trust.

More than that, Jack was surprised to find that he wanted to befriend Liz Lemon. He wanted to be a part of her little world, however twisted it might be. He witnessed from a distance how different she was with the writers on her staff, her closeness with her producer and dethroned star, and he began to search silently for some pathway into her inner circle.

In the past, most of his friendships had been formed shrewdly and practically. There was something that he wanted from someone or something they wanted from him and what ensued was an oblique mental tug-of-war – which generally he won. But Liz Lemon didn't have anything he needed – money, power, status, fame. And there was very little, if anything, that she ever wanted from him.

She hadn't even liked him at first. He'd actually asked her, point blank. Liz had hesitated – then lied. And he could hardly blame her -- he'd come into her life with the express purpose of taking apart what she'd put together. But he hadn't called her on the white lie -- rather he'd set about slowly and resolutely reversing her opinion of him.

Jack wasn't sure why her opinion even mattered to him. Of course, it had since become the one he sought first and needed most. But back then, he'd never had to do very much to make a woman like him -- his tux and his bank account did most of the work. Jack had never really had to win over a woman – especially not one like Liz Lemon.

As it happened though, it hadn't been so very difficult to earn her friendship. Liz was more inherently trusting than most people Jack knew and probably less guarded than she herself was aware of. Before he knew it, he'd fallen into an easy rapport with her that now seemed to define his days.

More and more, he felt oddly compelled and excited to share with her every inspiration, every breakthrough, every victory and most surprisingly, each disappointment which occurred in his daily life. A free exchange of ideas and fledgling affection was completely foreign to him. But Lemon was always there, at his eternal beck and call, ready with a quick quip, reluctant smile or befuddled expression – and he never felt fully satisfied until he'd gotten her, albeit at times, warped point of view.

There was simply something singular about Liz Lemon. He couldn't quite pinpoint it exactly. He'd tried to translate her evasive quality into his own language. He'd tried to lift her, lead her into his more fashionable, more cultivated world. He'd bestowed on her the opportunity, the connections, the guidance; he'd provided her with money, clothes, shoes, jewelry to appear the part.

To absolutely no effect.

Beneath any and all guise, Liz Lemon was still Liz Lemon. Nothing or no one was going to change her -- even him. And part of him was slightly relieved, because despite the fact that she was incurably inelegant, inappropriately verbose and rarely went five minutes without putting something in her mouth – often her foot – he had to admit with a mixture of resignation and pride, he liked her the way she was.

Despite the fact that she constantly bucked his preconceived ideas of womanhood, Jack could see more to admire and relish in Liz Lemon than in the many gorgeous but vapid women he'd dated over the years, all put together. At some point, he'd stopped looking for all the things wrong with Lemon, all the things he thought needed fixing, and he'd started noticing all the things he liked. Mysteriously, the latter seemed to far outweigh the former.

Jack began to see Liz Lemon in a whole new light, grew to appreciate what he'd previously criticized. And on the rare occasion that she did venture into his world, he was surprised to find that he could even be proud to be seen with her. She seemed to have the unintentional ability to endear herself to practically anybody. And he had to confess that when she was around, every other woman seemed -- to put it mildly -- deathly dull.

Liz Lemon did everything in vibrant, idiotic, dazzling, stumbling technicolor. It was something utterly uncontrollable in her that Jack found completely charming. And that confused him a little.

Because Liz was certainly not the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. In fact, when he first met her, he would've classed her as downright plain -- odd-looking even. Individually, none of her features worked. The hooded eyes, hiding behind narrow little specs, thin lips, which received more contact with ketchup than lipstick, an obstinate, pointy little chin and the ears of an overgrown elf. She even a slight scar running down one cheek. Her shoulders slouched, her toes turned inward like those of a little girl, and she seemed to clomp, flop and bob around rather than walk like a normal person.

She may have been the very antithesis of what Jack used to define as beautiful. And yet, all put together, there was _something_ vaguely bewitching about Liz Lemon.

She was not totally without appeal. He could see that. He could see how some men might be intrigued, perhaps even mildly attracted by her lop-sided smile and furtive eyes. The hair was thick, the cheekbones high, and despite a diet of predominantly disgusting junk food, she managed to maintain a decent, if imperfect, figure.

She was not his class of woman – but then he'd long ago become bored with his class of woman. No one who knew her well could accuse Liz of being boring. At times, she was a one-woman circus, a train-wreck waiting to happen.

Most of the women Jack had been involved with had waltzed into his life fully armed and equipped to intoxicate then manipulate. Lemon, on the other hand, stumbled blindly into his life then proceeded to fall apart all over it, leaving him to pick up the broken pieces. Something he didn't even mind now.

Her constant bungling had been a source of mild irritation and incredulity to him in the beginning and her resentment of his intervention into her affairs was glaringly apparent with every roll of her brown eyes. It had taken him a while to see past that impulsive insolence. It had taken him even longer to realize that, despite all of Liz Lemon's obvious strengths and outward exuberance, there was also something oddly vulnerable about her.

He looked for her tells, her weaknesses, like he did with every new acquaintance, and found that by watching closely, he could read Liz Lemon like a book. The way her jaw would stick out, or the way she'd look at him from the corners of her eyes, or the nervous half laugh she sometimes emitted, seemingly without wanting to -- all these things meant something to him now.

There was not much of a facade when it came to Liz and he liked the honesty of that, the directness of it. Everyone had some sort of defense system, of course, but Jack quickly became adept at seeing right through her flimsy armor, and the artless transparency she was so unaware of made him instantly and alarmingly protective of his unwilling protégé.

Yet, she did not need his protection, his direction as much as he might originally have thought. He had no idea how she had survived to such a ripe age with all that righteous optimism and headstrong integrity intact. She apparently had more strength in her than either of them presumed. After all, anyone who could stand toe to toe with him, suffer his endless criticism and continual challenges -- while still looking him in the eye with all that exasperating naivete -- then keep coming back for more, day after day, was more than a formidable adversary.

She was the best he'd ever had. The most exhilarating, the most unexpected, the most hilerious. He'd never found that in a woman before. It was a combination he'd never understood or craved. But now that he'd met his unlikely match, he couldn't quite imagine settling for any less, again.

Every moment with Liz kept him on his toes. As a result, Jack had developed a disturbing tendency to glean an increasing amount of satisfaction from throwing her off-balance. And keeping her teetering there. Possibly because he felt that, in some little way, she had thrown him off-balance from the moment they met. Possibly also because of the two little patches of pink that would appear in her cheeks whenever he managed to corner her with twisted logic.

Yet, however well he thought he could read her, however well Jack believed he knew Liz Lemon now, after their volatile beginning, there was still _something_ about her, some mystery he spent his days and occasional nights trying to uncover.

It wasn't just that she was disarming or singular. It wasn't simply that bewitching quality that had blindsided him so thoroughly. It wasn't her coexisting vulnerability and strength or even the way she peered at him sometimes as though he might be just as enigmatic to her as she was to him. It wasn't just her shark eyes or frantic hands, the hair that bore more than a passing resemblance to a bird's nest or the long legs that sometimes strolled into his office, bare and sleek and fine.

It was all of these things and so much more. There was something hidden about Liz Lemon that Jack believed only he saw.

At first, he'd classified it ambiguously as 'potential'. But it wasn't mere 'potential' that urged him to ride the elevator down to Studio 6H six times a day, or summon her to his office under the slightest pretext. It wasn't 'potential' that had ensured that "TGS" had turned into his latest pet project, taking up the bulk of his time and energy, almost to the exclusion of all else. 'Potential' should not make him smile, obsess, speculate or care, and 'potential' had never been the cause of a powerful man's downfall.

He should know. He'd had plenty of employees in the past with far more impressive potential -- more talent, more intelligence, more drive, more focus. But none quite like Liz Lemon. Lemon was different to all the rest.

She wasn't different because she was gay, as he'd once thought. She wasn't different because she was weird, which he still thought. She wasn't different because she was a creative type or an egghead. She wasn't different because she clung to the notion that purple went well with brown or that Mark Hamill deserved an honorary Oscar.

She was different to Jack from any other employee, any other woman, any other friend simply by virtue of the fact that she was Liz Lemon. There was no one else like her. She had the market cornered on desperately unbalanced charm. It was her own special niche market -- and that was one thing Jack had always found irresistible. Whatever it was Liz was selling, he was buying it -- big time.

He couldn't help himself. She was no longer simply an employee, not even just a good friend. She'd become more than a nuisance, more than a habit. She was Lemon. Beyond classification, beyond market research, beyond rationale. Beyond description.

She'd let herself into his world, wreaking havoc in every corner of his mind. And he couldn't manage to order her out again -- even if he wished to. Somehow, she'd managed to ingratiate herself into his life when he wasn't looking and Jack suspected he might never be quite the same -- or entirely sane -- again.

Life hadn't delivered any great surprises to Jack Donaghy in quite some time. He was a man who had it all figured, or so he'd thought. But Liz Lemon was one surprise to come late in life – and not an unpleasant one, as it had turned out. Life was more messy certainly, more ridiculous definitely, more stressful sometimes. There were more complications, more fistfights, more irrational humor and there was, without doubt, far more food.

But he could hardly imagine his life now without her in it. He didn't want to. And hopefully he wouldn't have to face that possibility for a long while. He'd started to dread the prospect of a day when some lucky bastard might see in Liz Lemon all the quality that he witnessed daily. Odds were, someone was eventually going to notice that there was something about Liz that had the potential to drive a perfectly sane man crazy – in both a bad way, and the best.

Someone, sometime, was going to want to put her in a white dress and change her name and promise to make her happy. Frankly, Jack is a little surprised it hasn't happened before. And also, knowing Lemon, he's not so surprised. Liz is no ordinary woman. She could never marry an ordinary man. He'd make sure of it.

But, for the present, at least, Jack considered her all his. His confidant, his playmate, his protégé, his own personal Jiminy Cricket, only without the top hat and tails and with a much dirtier vocabulary. In such a short time, he'd grown to rely on her like no other. He felt he could always trust Liz to be open and honest, to be her own brand of insane, or sweet in that strangely inept way of hers.

In fact, she probably had no idea what stock he placed in her, or the power she could exert over his world if she ever chose to. But Jack had every confidence that -- while Liz certainly did not lack the necessary charm -- even if the notion occurred to her, which he seriously doubted, she simply would not know where to begin wrapping a man around her flighty, little finger.

Maybe it ought to worry him, though, that he'd invested so much in someone so blatantly nuts, someone with some vague quality he can't even properly define. Mentally dissecting the women in his life had always been a compulsion with Jack and usually, divesting them of their mystery only resulted in disappointment and misery. The more he got to know Liz, though, the less disappointed and the more impressed, the more involved, the more intoxicated, he became.

Which was reason enough to stop watching her so close, to cease calling on her day and night and quit trying to figure out the deeper Lemon and her effect on him. Because, the plain truth was, however he might skirt the issue, she was not for him, and he was definitely not for her.

She would be the first to tell him that, probably with a very unladylike snort, if she didn't instantly smack him silly, then flee the scene. In fact, any fool could tell him that he and Liz were not right for each other. Any fool could give him a dozen solid, valid reasons why the very idea was preposterous.

At least he hoped so, because lately all those reasons had deserted Jack completely.

Which was probably why he'd abandoned a perfectly appropriate, perfectly impressive date at a perfectly respectable, perfectly ostentatious gala event and was currently riding the elevator of 30 Rockefeller Plaza for the seventh time that day. The affair had included the very best women, wine and crustacean available in the city. And he'd been bored out of his mind before the trays of appetizers had even made the rounds of the room once.

He'd stayed only long enough to be polite. Long enough to be photographed shaking hands with all the important people before attempting to snag some leftover lobster for Lemon. Imagining her expression when he showed up with the treat brought a secret smile to his face. Which, his reflection in the steel doors was still wearing, despite the fact that he was actually turning up empty-handed.

Jack wagged his head at the foolish expression he'd grown as he considered his relationship with his strange subordinate, dislodging the involuntary smile and directing his gaze to the ascending numbers overhead. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open quietly. He stepped off the elevator, following the familiar smell of burnt coffee and stale pizza down the empty hall towards the TGS writers' den.

As he'd expected, the usually buzzing room was still and dark, except for the light coming from Lemon's corner office. Loosening the black tie from around his neck and undoing the top button of his dress shirt, he headed towards the light and pushed through the partially open door. Lemon was not at her desk.

A light snoring came from the sofa opposite where she was sprawled, her head tipped back at an awkward angle, a chewed pencil drooping from between her lips and her boots propped up on the worn arm of the sofa. Stuck between her knees was a paper coffee cup and cradled against her side was a large, foil packet of pretzels, half eaten.

Jack stepped closer, mindful not to disturb her and unable to help a slight grin. He eased the coffee cup out from between her knees and dropped it in the trash beneath the end table, then carefully removed the pencil from her mouth. Liz bit her lip and sniffed in her slumber. Hesitating a moment, Jack leaned in and gently slipped the glasses off her face, folding them and placing them on the table.

He reached for the clutch of papers lying face down on her chest, slowly pulling them from her grasp. On them, he found some miscellaneous scrawl, some crossed out attempts and several jokes he'd asked her to write for him for an upcoming fundraiser. Bending closer again, he reached for the pretzels but Liz's grip tightened on the food, making the foil crackle loudly.

Jack glanced about, stealing a cushion from the foot of the sofa. When her grip relaxed again, he took the opportunity to slide the chips from her grasp and replace it with the pillow. She sighed and turned onto her side on the sofa, hugging the cushion and smooching her cheek against its faded design.

Jack shuffled over to her desk, taking a seat and beginning to read as he happily polished off the rest of her dinner. The jokes she'd written were mostly very good -- one he didn't get at all and two were completely unsuitable for the occasion, but the rest made him chuckle as he propped his dress shoes on her desktop and tipped himself back in her chair.

After reading them over twice and taking a quick peek at her desk calendar -- which only confirmed that this was exactly what Lemon planned to do with all her Saturday nights for the foreseeable future -- Jack rose and headed for the door. Tucking her notes into the pocket of his tux, he stopped on the threshold and turned back.

He glanced at his watch and at the snow falling outside. Slipping off his coat, he stepped back over to the couch and draped it over the curled up figure of Liz Lemon. She didn't stir -- her breathing was deep and measured, her eyelashes dark against her cheeks.

"Thanks for the material, Lemon," he muttered lowly.

He moved over to the desk and turned out the lamp, then headed again for the door, shutting it softly on his way out.

Yes, he mused silently, there was something about Liz Lemon one couldn't help but love. It might not make sense to him, but he'd long ago resigned himself to the fact that not much about women ever did. And Liz was one woman it could take a lifetime to fully understand.

That was fine by him -- he had plenty of time. Because if there was one thing Jack was sure of, it was that a woman like Liz Lemon didn't happen into a man's life every day of the week. And whoever won that lifetime with her would forever have _something _to smile about.

_END._


End file.
